My childhood was rough, due in part to a severe speech impediment which I still had at 9 years of age when my Dad got me a baseball glove and took me out for some catch. I could tell he was disappointed with my skills and disgusted that I cried when getting hit with the ball. Soon after that he put me into a little league that was 9-11 year olds. I had just turned 9 and was sorely outclassed. The coach, at times, laughed at my attempts and even used me as an example of what not to do. I practiced for a few weeks at pitching at the wall and then asked him for a tryout for that position, in smug laughter he put me on the mound and in my excitement I threw a hard but wild pitch which resulted in lots of laughter and that was the only throw I was aloud to try. At my first time up at bat I was nailed with the ball. I was left to it and was expected to go to practice on my own in which this coach continued to humiliate me. I quit going to practice and when my Dad found out he did a lot of yelling and threatened to whip me but after a “discussion” between he and my mom I was aloud to quit. It was quite obvious that my Dad was very unhappy with me and looking down on me for my actions. I really could have used some support rather than more criticism and seeing this disappointment.
At 11 years of age my Dad was not around much, I had just begun speaking clearly and was not putting up with the other kids ridiculing and teasing about my speech and so was getting into fights. One fight got out of hand in which I was in a total rage and biting so the teacher ran and got the coach (McDaniel) to break it up. He firmly but gently took me away; I thought I was in sooo much trouble, but there was no yelling or even punishment, he asked me what the problem was, calmly discussed it while explaining some things to me and while giving some positive feedback and encouragement about my speech. He went to talk to the teacher and then took me back to my class. The other boy, who was much bigger than I, got a few stern words and a threat of swats in front of the class and I was greeted warmly by the teacher. Obviously, I had someone who seemed to understand me and it meant enough to me to start changing my behavior. Anyway, back to the influences…
My Dad had bought some used weights but he left when I was 12. He told me I could have those weights when he left, he had showed me a couple of exercises before this event. I hardly did anything with them though.
In the 8th grade I went out for wrestling at the encouragement of this kid that became my new found friend after I had given him a black eye, LOL. Although I made team, I lost my first three matches and told him to tell Coach McDaniel that I was quitting. Coach came and took me out of my class and told me it didn’t matter that I lost, that we were a team, and I was the best one he had in that weight class and he needed me! He invited me to lift weights with him after school and wrestling practice and encouraged me to run more. I also began lifting weights at home.
Well, it’s too late to try to make a long story short, but I went on to take second place in the state that year, losing first place by one point because of an illegal hold I accidently put on in the last seconds because of my excitement to get a kid, who had slaughter me in earlier matches, on his back. He was holding on for dear life and I was still full of steam, if we had gone into to overtime I’m sure I would have took it! As a team we did take first place in the state. The coach’s support and that experience began my love and respect for exercise.
